


Because He Said It Once

by holmesbrcthers



Series: Prompted Ficlets [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Use, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Pining Sherlock, Substance Abuse, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmesbrcthers/pseuds/holmesbrcthers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has left, and Sherlock can only think of one thing to turn to. Enter the 7% solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because He Said It Once

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was: Johnlock and spoons.

Fingers dialling a number never truly forgotten. A loose floorboard pried up in a bedroom. A spoon. A lighter. An elastic band. An injection, and…

_Bliss._

Sherlock’s body went limp in his armchair, needle still sticking out of his arm as his eyes rolled back in his head. His lips parted, and a sound not unlike a moan left him. Truth be told, it didn’t feel nearly as amazing as the first time he’d taken a hit of his 7% solution, but then again, nothing ever did. In this moment, though, anything that would make the thoughts stop was better than nothing. Usually, he would’ve found distraction in another – healthier, less destructive – manner, but there was no reason to now. No one would stop him. No one who mattered, at least.

John was gone. Not yet half a year married, and the good doctor was forgetting him, like everyone else had before. He should be used to it by now, Sherlock knew, but it hurt, coming from the soldier. He knew what Mycroft would suggest: he should just retreat to his Mind Palace and destroy the rooms he’d built around and about his blogger, but Sherlock found that he couldn’t. Couldn’t forget, couldn’t delete. Not even the fact that the Earth revolved around the Sun, because He’d said it, even if only once. It was enough to make the information be classified as relevant.

Because John had said it once.

And so, even if it hurt to remember, even if the only reason he’d gotten high was to try to forget, even for the shortest of moments, Sherlock found himself dragging his uncooperative body across the room, and sunk down into John’s chair instead. It was there, nose filled with John’s lingering scent and with tears falling unbeknownst to him down his cheeks that the detective let himself imagine a world where everything would be alright again, a world where The Man would come back to him, a world where He wasn’t married anymore, where Sherlock could be selfish and tell Him…

_The door would open slowly, because John would’ve kept his keys to 221B, and John always opened the door slowly, unless he was angry. But John wouldn’t be angry in that moment, even when his eyes would drift down and find the needle sticking out of the detective’s arm. He would gasp, though, that he would do, his eyes wide even while he fought to keep a neutral, professional expression, one fit for a doctor who’d also been a soldier. Sherlock wouldn’t dare open his eyes, not wanting to see the disappointment in those blue eyes of his. He would know it was disappointment, even so. He could feel it oozing out of the man’s every pore. John would then fight the tremor in his hand as he always did, nod once, clear his throat, and move to close the door before approaching his friend. Tentatively, he’d reach out to touch his knee, torn between being a doctor for the man, Sherlock most obviously and desperately needing both in that instant._

_The doctor would prevail, as he always did in moments like these, and John would press his fingers to Sherlock’s neck to find a pulse. When satisfied, he’d feel for breath, and then extract the needle with utmost precision, covering the puncture wound with one of those plasters Sherlock always teased him about always having on his person. The elastic would be gone next, and John would hesitate once more. His duty as a medical professional completed, he would have to face the part he always found harder when it came to things like these._

But this was his own imagination, and Mind Palace John wouldn’t hesitate as long as John would before  _wrapping the man in his arms, letting the detective rest his head in the crook of his neck and sob. Sherlock’s arms would wrap around him with all the strength his drug addled muscles could produce, and he would sob._

And sob he did, because for a moment, it felt like he was truly holding John in his arms, that John was truly holding him close, shushing him quietly…  _John would let him cry as much as he needed, and then he’d pull back, warm, calloused hands cupping Sherlock’s jaw, but Sherlock would still refuse to open his eyes and…_

Warm lips pressed themselves to Sherlock’s forehead, and the detective gasped as his eyes flew open as fast as they possibly could, in his state. Bleary eyed for what felt like an eternity – tears and opiates never the best combination when it came to sight – and with his mind unable to come up with a rational thought even if his life depended on it, it took a long moment for Sherlock to be able to process what was in front of his eyes.

Deep blue ones stared right back at him, and Sherlock saw no disappointment, only guilt and grief and a desperation he’d never seen before. Deep blue eyes who belonged not to a man in his mind, but to The Man, the only man that had ever mattered. The Man to whom Sherlock’s heart had belonged to ever since that fateful day when He’d offered him His mobile.

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock managed to gasp, and John’s lips curled up into a self deprecating smile, tears flowing down his cheeks as well.

“Forgive me,” John found the courage to murmur. “I was a fool, a bumbling, bloody fool. God, Sherlock, I… I had no idea you’d be so affected…”

The man’s face was a wreck, and all Sherlock could do was clutch desperately to his jumper, letting his head fall back into the crook of John’s neck, and oh _God_ , it smelled like him, John was really  _here_ …

“It’s over now, it’s all over, me and Mary, me and you being apart…” The words just kept tumbling out, John unable to keep them in now that he’d started. “I’m never leaving. Never again.”

Sherlock could only nod. Never could he have imagined better.

**Author's Note:**

> Explanation of the capitalization:
> 
> I decided to use capitalization in reference to John whenever Sherlock was thinking about the man, because in my mind, this Sherlock almost venerates the good doctor, lifts him up onto a pedestal of goodness. There are no capitals in the imagination, because I wrote it simply as a description, not as a glimpse into Sherlock's mind. This is also why when John does make his appearance, there are no more capital letters in reference to him, as it is no longer Sherlock thinking, but an omnipresent narrator describing the scene.
> 
> Hope that clears up a few things!
> 
> Alternate ending:
> 
> With the way Sherlock describes the scene, it is easy to read that John really has made his way back into Sherlock's life, but I wanted to write it in a way that opens up the possibility that Sherlock might be so invested into his fantasy that he starts imagining it as reality. So, I suppose it could be read in two ways: one happy, one not. I'll leave you to decide for yourselves.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at holmesbrcthers.tumblr.com!


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